


Gifted

by Anonymous



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, Not historically accurate by any stretch of the imagination, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: They left the boy there like a parting shot.
Kudos: 19
Collections: Anonymous





	Gifted

They left the boy there like a parting shot.

The Genoese merchant ship had sat fat and still in the port of Tunisia for weeks, arguing the fees for trade within the capital city. When finally they arrived at the court of Yusuf’s father, they had crowded the bright hall, milling about each other like fish, chattering away without care for the others awaiting an audience. It was only when it was their turn to speak that they quieted as one of their own broke from the school to stride forward.

Yusuf, settled to the right and back from his father’s side to serve as scribe, couldn’t stop himself from frowning when the merchant bowed but remained standing. If this man hoped to lessen the fees that left his ship bloated and unprofitable, he was going about it in a boorish manner. Or perhaps, Yusuf mused as he ducked his head back to his work, this was how all Franks conducted their business. After all, none of the rest of his party seemed bothered even as the Frank made his case by turns in oily insinuation and shockingly blunt demands. He did not even bother to speak a greeting in Arabic; instead relying on the court’s own translator to stumble through the phrases after him.

Everything he did was an insult slicked away under a veneer of purposeful ignorance it seemed. There would be no leeway with this travesty.

True to Yusuf’s predictions, some five minutes later, his father’s only answer was a single ‘no’. 

It was the sudden clatter of useless wooden heels ringing out across the marble that startled Yusuf into raising his head again. The Frank made no bows, only turned and strode across the hall back to his writhing delegation, and reached in as the mass appeared to push forth around his arm and expel into his grasp a …. Yusuf leaned forward across his little writing desk. It was another figure, small and stumbling, that followed him back to the centre of the hall once more.

There was little to make out about who this new player was in the Frank’s insulting play. They were wrapped in salt-stained silks that draped artlessly over their head and seemed to almost hobble their limbs. It was, he realized a moment later with rising anger, a mockery of the modest dress favoured around the south and east of the Mediterranean. Yusuf slapped his hands down, rearing back, and was so focused on the swaying insult before them that it was only the rising grips of the court around him that drew his attention back to the mad Frank.

“I wished for a more beneficial agreement, your majesty.” He projected above the noise of his father’s court, ignoring proper address. “But to show we remain ever hopeful of continued partnership between our two lands, a gift.”

Then he bowed again, swept his short cape back over his shoulder and clattered his way out of the hall. 

The marble echoed with the rising ire of his father’s counsel and court as they all struggled to be heard over one another.

Yusuf cut his eyes to his right. Ruhi was quick to catch his eye and her own sparked with the same anger that Yusuf himself felt, even as their mother’s ladies fell to whispers around her.

“Quiet.” It was, itself, a quiet statement but it cut through the din. 

Yusuf’s father did not move from his spot at the top of the steeped marble dias. His tone was as steady as he himself appeared to be but his words were like a weight on all them. “The court is dismissed.”

They did not argue.

Yusuf settled back on his heels, knees raised slightly as he turned towards his father. Ibrahim was already motioning his minister closer and ordering guards to follow in the wake of the Genoese to ensure they left without further insult or issue. Quiet orders were issued and just as suddenly the hall had been filled with noise and motion there was silence and stillness.

In the middle of it all, still, was the silk-draped ‘gift’. 

“I did not know the Franks traded so openly in slaves.” Yusuf offered, finally, puzzled.

Ibrahim scrubbed his hand through his beard in a display of emotion he would never let his court be witness to. His tone, when he replied, was just as puzzled. “I had not thought so either, even in insult.”

“This is ridiculous.” That was Ruhi, rising from behind the screen, tossing her own veil quickly across her nose and mouth. She was already halfway down the marble steps that elevated their family above the hall by the time Yusuf had half-raised himself to follow. 

“Ruhi!” Yusuf bleated, feeling all of the five years difference between them as if he were no longer sixteen but six and stumbling after his sister with a wooden sword and not his own very real weaponry.

He reached her just as she herself reached the figure and the two of them crowded around them. It was obvious that weaponry was not needed here. Yusuf had not yet reached his full height and yet the crown of the other’s head only just reached Yusuf’s chin and it was much clearer from here that it was a youth who stood, shuddering, before them. Even if they had not been so clearly young and unsteady, the mockery of silks were wound in places so tightly that it was unlikely a limb could rise to strike them. They smelled too; like salt and old fish and Yusuf wasn’t entirely certain that it was the silks and not something worse waiting underneath them.

Yusuf frowned and scrubbed his hand through his own budding beard as his father had done and then up into his curls. Ruhi was untucking the youth but they weren’t reacting other than to sway in whatever direction Ruhi tugged. Yusuf ducked down to peer under the mess of scarves around the other’s face and then he swore lightly. The eyes were light and wide and completely glazed over. Their face was pale but if Yusuf had to guess, there was a level of starkness there that wasn’t natural to the little Frank. “I think he’s been given poppy, father, and rather more than someone this size should have.”

His sister had stopped unwinding the stained silks beside him and instead cradled one arm up against the chest, starting to rebind them. "He is probably glad of it." Ruhi's voice crackled with anger as she straightened. Tucking their gift into her side, she made for the dais, clicking her tongue impatiently for their mother's ladies to follow. "His arm is well broken. Send for the healers, Yusuf."

"Send them where?" Yusuf fretted back, but got no answer. Just as well. He knew exactly where Ruhi would be going. "Father," he implored.

"If he is wrapped up with a knife in there, Yusuf, I somewhat doubt his ability to use it." Ibrahim settled back into his cushion, gesturing the Wazir back to him. "It will make no difference whether he is in our apartments or not. Go, do your diligence as brother. I must sort this mess out."

"Yes, Father."

"And perhaps a warning to the shehzadi's husband would not go amiss." The Wazir advised, voice dry.

Yusuf snorted, inelegantly. Ruhi's husband would take their visitor in the same easy stride as he took all things his wife gave him. For all that the man would some day rule his own lands, he indulged his wife to rule him as she ruled her siblings. 

Not that Yusuf would have let him do otherwise. He shook his head to rid him of his thoughts. Flushing as his father's eyebrow climbed higher with every second he dithered, Yusuf made his bows and hurried to do as he was bid.


End file.
